The Overseers of Complexity
I have an innate fascination for gadgetry
Old constructions of brass and glass and numbers
Designed to measure one thing or another.
Enjoy compasses and sextants
Things with gears
Or wires that spin
Something meant to determine location.
The ritual adjustment of the divining tool appeals.
If I can just get the alignment
When the proper stars are up
And present the correct offerings to the overseers of complexity
Perhaps I will know where I am.
I like small brown rocks for the same reasons.
Fits of homesickness come and go,
Obeying no known rules of logic.
I may be getting off of a plane from Oklahoma
And already be missing the heavy, wet air
Smell of terrapin
The flood plain of the Neosho river.
Stirring the Creek water
Later I asked her,
“Is it still
When it comes out of the tap?”
While planting the garden
Four mason jars containing
Words on paper.
Pages torn from a
Three seem to be poems
One just says,
From Smuggling Cherokee (Greenfield Review Press, 2006). Copyright © 2006 by Kim Shuck. Used with the permission of the author.